


Stick, Gloves, Shirt

by riadsala



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bruises, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riadsala/pseuds/riadsala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after the upcoming October 18 game between the Coyotes and the Blackhawks in Phoenix. Biz and Carbomb fight on the ice, and do something other than fight off it. Written for the prompt "black and blue."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stick, Gloves, Shirt

Paul winced as he shouldered the door to his condo open. He was going to have a beauty of a bruise there come the morning. Dan followed in after him, grinning.

“Door a little heavy for you there, Biz?”

“Just regretting my decision to let you crash here. It’s going to be a bitch to get the cleaners in after.”

Dan scoffed and flopped down on the oversized couch. “Bitch, you love me.”

He idly turned on the tv and scrolled through to Sportscenter. They were still predicting the Phillies to take the World Series in 6.

“You want a beer?” Paul called from the kitchen.

“Might as well,” Dan called back. “If you’re gonna be too cheap to introduce me to the local talent tonight.”

Paul collapsed on the couch next to him and dropped a beer in his lap. “I don’t want to salt my game dragging your ugly ass around with me. The ladies would never talk to me again.”

“Fuck off, ladies love the Carbomb.” Dan smacked him across the hip without much heat, but Paul still let out a grunt of pain. When he lifted up his t-shirt there was a dark purpling bruise already forming on the skin above his hipbone. Dan whistled low.

“Shit, that’s a gonna be a good one. I give you that?”

Paul snorted. “Like your weak-ass punches even register. No, I’m pretty sure this one’s a Duncan Keith special.”

“Ouch. That’ll sting.”

“You wanna kiss it and make it better?” Paul grinned and waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly.

In response Dan set his beer down and pressed his fingers against the bruise, deliberately pushing down. The goofy expression immediately dropped off Paul’s face and he bit his lip as his thighs fell further open and he slid more comfortably into the couch.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Dan said smugly, even as his hand slid slowly down over the front of Paul’s shorts, massaging the growing bulge there. “Looks like you haven’t changed too much.”

Paul reached up and caught his hand in Dan’s hair, tugging him up to meet him. “You gonna talk or you gonna do something about it?”

Dan kissed him, lazily at first until Paul caught him just where he had split his lip with his fist a few hours earlier. He pulled back hissing to see Paul looking thoughtful and running his lips over his teeth.

“I forgot how weird it is to kiss a guy with no chiclets,” he said.

“Sorry babe, I left my falsies back in Chicago. Besides, I don’t recall you having too many complaints about what my mouth can do.”

Paul grinned and thrust up meaningfully where Dan’s hand still rested over his dick. Dan squeezed him just this side of painfully and started to undo his fly. With a little help, he shucked his shorts and underwear to the floor. He stroked Paul’s dick two or three times, just getting a feel for the hard length, before bending his head and sucking the head into his mouth. He kept his hand wrapped around the base, letting it limit how far down he went and spreading his spit, getting the whole shaft slick.

Paul hummed in the back of his throat and pushed Dan’s hair away from his face, watching where his cock kept disappearing into his mouth. He traced Dan’s bottom lip with a thumb until it was batted away impatiently. The wet heat felt amazing, sending a rush through his whole body and a tightening in the base of his stomach. Dan rubbed himself through his pants and moaned, causing Paul’s hips to thrust up erratically. Dan choked and pulled off, coughing.

“Shit, Biz, you treat all your girls like this? No wonder you stay single.”

Paul tugged on Dan’s hair again, trying to guide him back down. “Nah babe, this is special just for you.”

Dan punched at a nascent bruise on the top of his thigh in retaliation, but he did duck his head and swallow him back down. Paul gasped at the two contrasting sensations and bit his lip, running his hand restlessly across Dan’s shoulders. Dan sucked harder, flicking his tongue just under the head of his cock and stroking firmly at the base. Paul gripped tightly at Dan’s shoulder in warning and then he was coming, shoving Dan’s face down and swearing as he did. “Oh fuck, Danny. Shit.”

He shuddered through the aftershocks, body curling around his lap until he finally relaxed and let Dan up. Dan sat up and spat into his beer bottle, before stealing Paul’s and taking a swig. Paul grinned, loose and sated, gaze dropping to where Dan was dragging the heel of his hand up and down the seam of his pants.

“Hey c’mere, let me help with that.” He grabbed Dan’s bicep and pushed him back, arranging him on his back on the couch. He fumbled at the zipper, still buzzing a little from his orgasm, but eventually he had his cock out and in his hand. He propped himself over Dan, leaning on his elbow and biting lightly at Dan’s jaw. Spitting on his palm, he quickly set up a steady rhythm, twisting his wrist over the head and catching his thumb on the underside every couple of strokes. Dan panted and whined shamelessly, thrusting up into Paul’s fist and biting at his lips.

“Come on, Carce, do it.” Paul sped up his strokes and kissed him fiercely. Dan gripped Paul’s forearm bruisingly tight, fingers digging in as he came, stomach tight and thighs straining. Once Paul had wrung the last drops from him, Dan relaxed completely, patting him clumsily on the arm in thanks.

“Solid work, Biz. Always a beauty.”

They lay on top of each other for a while after, ignoring the come soaking into their shirts and dumbly staring at the tv, which had cycled round to another Sportscenter showing.

“No way the Phils are taking it this year,” Paul said eventually.

Dan waved away the assertion. “Fuck you, you’re betting against Halladay? Guy’s a beast.”


End file.
